Lucio recklessly drove through the crowded driveway and brought his car to a rough halt.
He had a bad feeling about this morning.
Some unexplainable pain, tingling in his head, pushed him to drive to the motel where Devon stayed.
Why did Devon sound so afraid last night? What made him refuse to let Lucio come over?
Lucio’s heart beat faster as he walked into the motel; its workers immediately gave him friendly looks as they knew him well. He came there almost every day. They would see him leave with Devon and not return until it was night—rumor had it that it was Lucio, too, who accommodated Devon’s stay at that cheap motel. But Lucio seemed to have this hostile vibe that relented them from asking questions, that even being curious brought guilt to them.
He was one of those men whose faces simply told you that he had been through a lot.
“Devon? He left this morning. At six-thirty, actually,” the receptionist glared at Lucio. He knew something was fishy ever since Devon brought that blonde girl he claimed to be his sister—but what? Would it be wise to tell Lucio about her?
“What? He left? Where?” Lucio’s eyebrows converged.
“N-not left as in for breakfast or coffee, Sir,” the receptionist thought hard to explain it without angering the man in front of him. “He… he checked out. He seemed to be in a hurry. It almost looked as if he—he ran away.”
Lucio landed a slap on the table and turned away, burying his face into his palm.
That bastard.
YOU ARE READING
Tearing Paper
RomanceThere's this girl. She spends every day tearing paper, as if nothing she writes ever makes sense. There's this guy. He spends every day watching her, although he knows he isn't ready to love again. When he finally dares himself to make a move, they...
